


A Measure of Worth

by levitatethis



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-19
Updated: 2008-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sayid reflects on going back to the island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Measure of Worth

_“Black hole sun   
Won’t you come   
And wash away the rain”_   
-**Soundgarden, **_**Black Hole Sun **_

They never got a proper goodbye.

Not that either of them noticed it at the time. It was the least of their concerns in the face of a long awaited rescue. But now heading back, eyes open, into the abyss from which they came, Sayid remembers. Theirs was a friendship borne of a shared goal. Skeptical and cautious, they had walked step by step in tandem, with an unspoken understanding as they mindfully interrogated the circumstances that imprisoned them.

Of all the people Sayid had conversed with on the island, Desmond—the surprise guest not from the plane but already there occupying a hidden hatch and going through the motions of his own inexplicable calling—was the one he had come to feel the most affinity with. There had been no time to measure the worth of such a bond; it was what it was, a means to an end.

As removed a feeling as that sounded, there had been no coldness between them. In fact their time together was amongst the closest Sayid had ever felt with someone he was not more personally involved with. It was more than the close quarters they shared during their brief time on the ship (if proximity were the only criteria then Sayid would surely have regarded most of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 in the same regard) but the shared experience of being on the same page, asking the same questions, and communicating in a language known only by them.

And in the midst of undeclared captivity it was on Desmond’s face that Sayid first saw the breakthrough of utter joy—hope, so real, so nearly touchable—that it made him feel (momentarily) no longer bound by the haphazard universal laws that governed the island and surrounding water. Absolutely wondrous awe had played across Desmond’s face as the familiar voice of Penny—_of home_—had reached inside him beyond the invisible boundaries that had held him captive indefinitely.

In that rip through the fabric of time and space, Sayid had allowed himself to seriously consider the possibility that his own corrupted past could be forgiven and set aside. Briefly, before it was time for them to get back on track with survivalist counter attacks, Sayid imagined Nadia somewhere in the world somehow keeping time for him. For five seconds there was no island or plane crash and the acts he was ordered to carry out as a member of the Republican Guard were pardoned; for five seconds it was just he and Nadia and everything else fell away.

Hope. What a terrible joke. The last scraps of it have been dangled in front of him as a carrot dripping ridicule, scornfully. Nadia is dead and he may as well be. The tainted taste of happiness is still poison through his veins. The island is the unseen noose tightening around his neck and each minute that passes brings him—them—closer to a broken eternity.

The Oceanic Six.

Except there are seven of them on the anxious and disappointing return trip. Desmond’s presence has still not sunk in for Sayid but he wonders if it is wrong to feel unexpected relief at his being here. There is confusion still to be had. Sayid has had everything taken but Desmond, as far as Sayid knows, still has (_had_?) Penny and yet…

There is little time for that question. Tentative greetings are expressed and while Jack argues with Ben, Desmond looks at Sayid who is standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and offers him a slight nod before approaching. Their handshake is firm and Sayid clasps his free hand on Desmond’s shoulder.

“Please don’t think me rude,” Sayid says, a sad smile hovering across his lips, “but what are you doing here?”

Desmond glances cautiously at the others who are seated in various spots around the living room then steps into Sayid’s space, nudging him back a few feet. Sayid looks past Desmond’s shoulders at the others caught up in the terse words between Jack and Ben, with Kate running interference while Aaron naps on the sofa against the far left wall.

When he returns his attention to their private conversation, Desmond says, “I’ve become…unstuck.”

Sayid wrinkles his brow in a mixture of confusion and inquisitive understanding. “Again? How is that possible? Penny is still…you’re both still together?”

“Yes—and here I still am. Two places at once—with her, with you.” Desmond drops their handshake but remains close. “Whatever it is, I’m not done yet.”

Sayid contemplates his confession. “Then this is not the first time since the rescue?”

“Fifth time,” Desmond shakes his head and turns to face the group, but keeps his voice low enough for only Sayid to hear. “Thought it was all _finally_ okay and then—,”

“What the hell do you mean the whole island is gone?”

Jack’s harshly stated question, the urgency of which echoes desperately in his cracked voice, abruptly halts their conversation.

“I guess I mean it isn’t where it’s supposed to be, Jack,” Ben says dismissively, paying little attention to Jack’s confrontational stance pushing into his space.

“What does that mean?” Kate demands, scrunching her face up in confused disbelief.

“It means our problems are greater than I anticipated,” Ben says and the drollness of his voice is in sharp opposition to everyone else’s over emphatic reactions. “You guys really messed things up and the consequences are tenfold.”

“Tenf—I don’t get it? The people on the island are okay, right?” Hurley asks with a quick look at Sun who is staring blankly out the window.

“What do you think?” Ben asks.

Hurley hesitates and Sayid, after a mutual glance with Desmond, steps forward with an air of irritated confidence, his arms folded across his chest. “Are you asking us to believe that an island with all those people on it, an island we lived on, has simply vanished into thin air?”

“Still questioning the power of it I see,” Ben says shaking his head. “What needs to happen for you to believe?”

Sayid thinks a moment as he takes a quick inventory of the others. Sun turns from the window void of emotion, a far cry from the person she had been when he first knew her during their struggle for survival. Hurley’s shifty attention not focusing on any of them too long runs counter to the friendliness he had bestowed on all of them when they were no more than strangers thrust together by chance and the hand of unknowable forces. Kate’s downcast eyes and quick steps to Aaron still emanate her will to survive, to do what is necessary, but her sadness is more pervasive now, the uncertainty of which she hid with better ease before.

The change in Jack is striking. It is not that the emotionally overwhelmed side of him had not existed before but that it had been contained while a greater purpose—to get off the island—hung in the air. Now it is like a fissure has cracked his resolve and every hurt and worry is flooding out, contaminating everything. Despondent just about covers it.

Sayid looks over his shoulder at Desmond who is the appearance of reserved calm, suggesting the direness of their situation is not lost on him but that he is still looking for the loophole. His shoulders are tense from him holding them stiff and his face cannot mask the hardness of the blow his return to all of this is. He looks disappointed.

Sayid turns back to Ben, unsurprised to find their puppet master watching him carefully. For all of Ben’s anxiousness there is a more prevalent countering element that travels anger up Sayid’s body—smugness in the distasteful taunt of, ‘I told you so,’ kicking up the corners of his mouth as he enjoys the power that his controlling hand of fear (made more of a weapon by the fact of his withholding information for the rest of them) affords him.

Sayid wonders how he appears to them. They may have heard about Nadia (Ben had certainly used their losses to push Sayid further into compliance) and he has been bandied about between mindfully portraying a cool exterior and feeling himself in freefall. He has always kept his emotions in check with others, not inviting them in when it was more important to focus on other issues—for all the good that did him, any of them for that matter.

They are alter ego versions of themselves with just enough of whom they were before to make the here and now authentic, albeit with something missing. Motionless and yet still driven to fulfill a prophecy they had tried so hard to escape. The scales are unbalanced, and not in their favour, forcing them to suffer the ills of their choices. Yet here they all are, against their rightful will but still _trying_ to swing the pendulum back. _Trying_.

Sayid takes a deep breath before addressing Ben again with a slow and knowing speech that insists on an end to the games. “You’ve made it clear that the island, of which you know more of the intricacies than anyone else, demands our return. You’re the one who orchestrated the very precise dismantling of our lives to ensure we would be here now. I’m fairly certain you know of a way to get us there.”

Ben huffs and begins a long diatribe about how all of this could have been avoided. Another flurry of words is exchanged within the group and Sayid returns to Desmond’s side. There was once a time when Sayid would have insisted on being part of the larger picture unfolding before him, but besides being in no particular rush to get back to the island he is feeling temporarily impotent in the face of too many undefined factors. Meeting Desmond’s gaze he is suddenly less alone.

Desmond folds his arms across his chest as Sayid leans back against the wall. “Our lives don’t seem to be our own,” he says to Sayid as they both watch what look like characters playing their parts in a staged piece.

“I wonder if they ever were,” Sayid laments. With a glance to the side he finally turns to address Desmond directly. “I didn’t think I’d see you again and now I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Desmond gives him a sympathetic smile then stares at the group. With a nod in Ben’s direction he asks Sayid, “What do you make of him?”

“Not to be trusted. But it would seem our hands are tied.”

“The devil you know, then?”

The question is accentuated by the drawn out pause that follows. “For now.” Sayid’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Did he find you—like the rest of us?”

Desmond drops his gaze to the floor and pushes the toe of his right shoe against the hardwood. “Suddenly showed up out of nowhere on my damn doorstep. I tried to deal with him on my own but he kept showing up with these bloody cryptic speeches and then…I was unstuck in time again. One day Penny mentioned him and I knew I had to do whatever to protect her.”

“What exactly does he expect of us?” Sayid poses thoughtfully to no one in particular.

“I don’t know, but…as bad as it may sound, I’m glad you’re here.”

Caught off guard by the sentiment, Sayid is wide-eyed surprise and the trail hint of an amused smile softens his face.

His silence prompts Desmond to continue. “The time on the ship—I don’t think I really got it until after, when I was back with Penny, but you…you were a saving grace.”

“I didn’t—,”

“You were. If you weren’t there I can’t imagine what would have happened.”

“You mean being rescued only to have our lives destroyed and forced to go back? To lose my one chance at lo—, permanently? To have your second chance with Penny mean nothing?”

Desmond grips his arm, startling him out of his dampened recollections. “I wouldn’t give up the second chance I had with Penny for anything. You’re the one that got the transmission to work. Hearing her voice for the first time after so long, thinking it was all lost; was one of the best moments of my life. You did that for me. Don’t you forget it. I won’t, brother.”

Not knowing how to respond to such a heartfelt confession, Sayid sarcastically says “And now we have the opportunity to do it all over again.”

Desmond drops his grip and Sayid hates the disappointment he is encouraging with his dismissive attitude. He tilts his head down, as if making a private admission, and says, “Though more wise this time?”

Desmond nods, his forehead wrinkled in contemplation, and cracks a half smile. “Definitely.”

They exchange a tiny, seemingly undercover nod, kept from the distraction of everyone else.

“Despite appearances to the contrary, I am relieved to see you here too,” Sayid says. “At the end it was good to have a…a friend.”

A more calm, though still tense, silence rests about them. After a few minutes of listening to the others debate the uncertainty of what awaits everyone, Desmond leans to the right, turning his face slightly, and says, “And now into another abyss we go—together.”

Such a simple word but there is power in it that races through Sayid like an electric currant. He refocuses his attention on Desmond and feels an influx of strength thought to be long gone. Analyzing the complexities of the group and what hangs in the balance, Sayid regards his wallowing state with distaste and disgust. Ben may well be calling the shots but it is no more than a temporary set back. Sayid has gotten out from under him before, even if briefly, so why should he be ineffectually indifferent now?

If this is indeed the end, he demands answers. Too much has been lost or stolen already. Too much has been sacrificed, their hands forced without regard. He alone has paid a high price in the lives of others and now it is time he redrew the terms, for all of them.

“Yes,” Sayid says under his breath. “Together.”

 


End file.
